


Red

by WritingForTheRevolution



Series: Shades of You [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Colors, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingForTheRevolution/pseuds/WritingForTheRevolution
Summary: Anger, passion, fire, love.What else is red?





	Red

Red.

Before, it was the color of the leaves on the trees in the fall, small tongues of flame dancing in the wind. It was the color of John’s windblown cheeks as he walked around Central Park, and the color of the pencils he used to shade the glowing sunset. It was the color of the burn that appeared on his sister’s shoulders when she forgot to use sunscreen, and the color of the lipstick his mother always wore when she was alive.

Before, it was just a color.

But then there was Alex, and he was immersed in the color. When someone decided it would be a good idea to argue with him, it was the fire that flashed behind his eyes as he spat out his thoughts faster than his opponent could think of a rebuttal. When he spoke, it was the color of the words that flowed from his mouth and painted images in the air, and it was the color that followed the frenzied motions of his hands as he ranted about whatever was trending on Twitter.

It was the color of their friendship, an endless whirlwind of motion. It was the laughter that filled the silence when they were together, the two of them against the world. But it was also a warning, one that told John to stop and think, and it was the one he had chosen to ignore when he kept going. And when John realized that he was in love, it was his pulse every time their eyes met from across the room, every time Alex flashed him that cocky smile or brushed his shoulder as they walked across campus. When Alex and Eliza started dating, it was the color that accompanied the sinking feeling that Alex would never be his, and it was the burst of hope in his chest when they broke up, at the thought that he might actually have a chance.

It was the color that lit up the world on the day Alex kissed him for the first time.

When they were wrapped in the sheets together, late at night, it was the color of fierce, unspoken promises, ones that couldn’t be kept. It was the sound of Alex’s heartbeat as John nestled close to his chest, the dark flush that spread across his face when Alex traced patterns over his skin, and it was the color of the marks that appeared on his shoulders the next morning.

It was the fire that had blossomed so quickly between them, the one that had spread as their friendship grew. It was passionate and vibrant and uncontrollable and loud, and it was Alex’s color, the one that filled every part of his being.

But it was _her_ color too, the shade of the dress on the floor that he tripped over as he walked into their dorm. It was the color that drained from his face when he opened the bedroom door to reveal the scene in front of him, the color of the fear and guilt that filled Alex’s eyes when he saw John standing there, the color of his bruised lips when he opened his mouth to spout meaningless words that John didn’t want to hear. It was the heat of her skin as she brushed past him in the doorway, the buzzing that filled his ears as he tried to think of something to say and when he couldn’t, it was the sound of a voice that wasn’t quite his telling Alex to get out, and the sound of him slamming the door behind the boy who had made him feel so much.

That night, it was the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue. It was the harsh sound of shattering glass when it fell to the floor, and it was the color of the shards strewn across gleaming wood. It was the color that invaded his thoughts, the one that told him that _of course_ he wouldn’t be enough, why would he think it would be possible for him to satiate the desires of the boy who would never be satisfied? It was the prick of his fingernails that dug sharply into his palms as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stop it, stop it, stop it….

It was the color of the blade against his wrists as he tried to forget.

And when Herc came in and sat beside him on the floor, it was the color that shattered the silence when he broke down and cried, angry and hurt and confused.

It was the color that flooded his thoughts after Eliza introduced her to their friends at their next movie night; _Maria, my girlfriend,_ she had said. It was the color of the guilt that flashed in her eyes as he stared at her from across the silence, and it was the color of the scene that played out in front of him and ended with a dress on the floor. It was the color that threatened to drown him as he muttered some excuse and rushed out of the room before the tears could fall and the color could stain his face.

It was the color that leached into his thoughts once again when he broke down on the sidewalk, telling him that he wasn't enough, and it was the color of he reassurances that Herc whispered to him, telling him that he was.

It was the faint yet noticeable color around his eyes when he walked into the bar a week or so later, the color of the pulsing lights on the dance floor, and the feeling of dozens of heartbeats pounding with the heavy bass coming from the speakers. It was the haze that blurred his vision and clouded his thoughts, and it was the color that flashed for just a second in the eyes of a girl who looked up at him through thick lashes. But that second of color was enough; it drew him in and pushed him to act before he could think twice. It matched the polish on her nails when she placed a hand on his arm and led him outside.

It was the taste of cheap wine on her lips when she kissed him, the sense of reckless abandon that filled his stomach and made him aware of every breath against his skin. It was the feeling of sweat-dampened skin and feverish motions as he lost himself in her touch, and it was the trace her nails would leave on his skin, harsh and unwanted, in the morning.  


When he awoke, it was the pounding headache and storm of emotions that hit him all at once, the light that assaulted his eyes when he ran into the bathroom before the memories from the night before came rushing back.

As he wiped his mouth and looked up, it was the regret that he knew shone clearly through his features, the color of the numerous apologies that fell from his lips before the tears started to flow. It was the color of the scattered semblance of explanations that he tried to piece together and the gentle feeling of her lips against his forehead, telling him she understood even when his words failed. It was the feeling of his hands wrapped in those of a girl he had just met, who had seen the mess of color and broken parts that spilled from him and helped piece it all back together.

And nine months later, it was the color of John’s scuffed tennis shoes as he attempted to focus his eyes anywhere except on his father’s when he told him that he had a daughter whose mother had died.

It was the color that entered his life so suddenly. It was the one he forgot about after while, the one he pushed to the back of his mind as he tried to move on. It was a color that lasted forever, one of the few that stained and never faded no matter how hard it was scrubbed.

So when John is rushing through the crowded city streets, holding tightly to his daughter’s hand, it’s the color of the coffee that is spilled down his front, and it’s the color of the world when it stops and he’s staring into the eyes of a boy he tried so hard to forget. But maybe this color can’t be forgotten. So as his daughter tugs on his hand and tears his gaze away from the light dancing in Alex’s wide eyes, it’s the color of the number that he scribbles onto Alex’s hand before he walks away.

It’s the color that makes its way back into his life, slowly but surely. It’s the trust that begins to return bit by bit, never quite what it was before, but enough. It’s the color that appears when John watches Alex play with his daughter, and it’s the color that lights up the room when he smiles at her, gentle and kind.

It’s the color that hurt him so badly, and the color of the distrust that all his friends express when they find out he’s trying it again. It’s the color that they throw at him with every question, the color of every _what if_ that threatens the carefully built walls in his head, the color of the memories that taint everything between them, and it’s the feeling of fear that tells him not to risk it all again.

It’s the color of the doubt that fills his waking moments, and the color that prompts him to talk to Eliza when he can’t take it anymore. It’s the heat he can feel rising in his face as he quietly asks her if he and Alex should even try again, the way his voice breaks in the middle of the question. It’s the feeling of her hands circling around his own and the warmth in her gaze when she tells him it’s his choice.

It’s the flicker of hesitation in his stomach as his reflection stares back at him from the mirror, the sound of the doorbell when it rings and he opens the door to see Alex shifting nervously as he holds out a bunch of carnations whose petals are stained with the color.

And it’s the one that explodes when he finally presses his lips gently to Alex’s and the other boy lets him take control.

It’s the color that he feels, the color that defined them and the mess that was their relationship.

And when they’re walking along the leaf-strewn sidewalks and Alex stops and kneels down in front of him, it’s the color that floods his vision and makes his heart stutter as he stares at the boy whose nervous eyes hold John’s gaze as he begins to speak.

_Yes._

**Author's Note:**

> I found a post on Instagram that was taken from Tumblr that described the color red without using the word. I took a slightly different approach.
> 
> Thank you to lavendrr_sky for proofreading. <3


End file.
